Episode Fifty-One: Today’s Lunch Is Definitely Clam Miso Soup
“Alright, once more, properly this time. Kanata, happy birthday!”
I clinked my brimming lemon sour against Yuuri’s outstretched beer mug.
After a crisp, satisfying clink, Yuuri tipped the beer back, gulping it down eagerly.
Yuuri’s hair, dyed all kinds of colors back in college — gold, silver, everything — had settled into a proper, calm color now that she was a working adult, and we’d both changed, a little, since those days.
“Thanks for celebrating my birthday again this year.”
“No worries, no worries. Eat and drink as much as you want, I’m treating today.”
Alcohol soaked pleasantly into my worn-out body. Second spring as a working adult, twenty-four years old now — I still couldn’t drink beer, same as always, but I’d grown into a proper adult, in my own way. Compared to my first year working, I think I’d finally gained a little breathing room.
“How’s work going lately, Kanata? Busy?”
“Mm, start of the month’s a bit hectic, but the rest of the time I get to leave on schedule. What about you?”
“Overtime’s still heavy for me, but it’s fun, so I manage somehow.”
After a year studying abroad, I’d come back to Japan, and once I graduated university, I took a job at an IT startup. Assigned to the administrative department, though, so I’ve been living a fairly comfortable working life.
Yuuri and I have stayed just as close since graduating, and no matter how busy things get, we always make sure to see each other like this, once a month, without fail.
Venting to each other, comforting each other, we’d somehow made it through the whirlwind of our first year working.
A drink after work really is delicious. Yuuri, who holds her liquor far better than I do, had already drained her mug about halfway.
Setting her mug down on the table, Yuuri suddenly clapped her hands, like something had just occurred to her.
“Oh, right, I ran into Ritsu-san the other day, for the first time in ages. She got transferred back here. Still busy as ever, groaning about it the whole time.”
“Really? So Ritsu-san’s back in Tokyo. I’d love to see her too…”
After graduating, Ritsu-san had gone to work for a major bank, apparently with her first posting in Osaka. Yuuri had gone to see her a few times, but even after I got back to Japan, I never managed to catch her.
Time really does move fast. It’s been a full four years now since I left for England.
The first stretch after I’d parted from Yui-san had been genuinely hellish.
Even so, the pain had gradually faded with time, leaving behind only the beautiful memories, still sitting in my heart even now.
Yuuri kept telling me not to dwell on it forever, to find someone new, and dragged me to a few mixers after I got back to Japan — but my heart had apparently frozen solid ever since, and no matter how good-looking a man tried to court me, nothing in me so much as stirred.
“Yuuri, same time next year for my birthday, okay?”
At that, Yuuri gave a sly, teasing grin.
“…Kanata, seriously, isn’t it about time you got a boyfriend?”
“Don’t say it that easily. It’s not something you can just decide to make happen.”
Yuuri’s close with Ritsu-san, so she surely isn’t entirely in the dark about what Yui-san’s up to these days.
But not once, since coming back to Japan, had either of us ever brought up Yui-san’s name.
This autumn, Yui-san turns twenty-six. I don’t want to think about it, but she might already be married by now, and I know, just like Yuuri says, that I should really move forward.
Even so, I still spend my nights the same way I always have — hugging my worn-out orca to sleep.
I tipped back the lemon sour, trying to chase the unpleasant feeling away. Every spring, the pain I thought I’d forgotten comes creeping back.
Whether she knows it or not, Yuuri, right in front of me, celebrates my birthday like this every single year, and her kindness genuinely saves me, every time.
＊＊＊
The next day, having gotten carried away and had far too much to drink catching up with Yuuri, I woke up predictably hungover, and dragged myself into work pressing at my throbbing temple.
I made it to the office at 8:53 — I’d walked slowly from the station, so it was cutting it pretty close.
Holding my employee ID card up to the time-clock terminal, I opened the office door.
“Good morning…”
“Ah, Aozawa-chan, morning~”
Mitsuya-san, the woman who sits next to my desk, raised a hand in greeting. She’s two years above me, and had been my training supervisor my whole first year here.
The company’s dress code is casual, so technically anything goes, but Mitsuya-san always wears a crisp, sharp jacket, her shoulder-length dark brown hair glossy, ends always perfectly even. She gives off a real “competent working woman” impression.
Her sharp, narrow eyes had intimidated me a little at first, but that impression evaporated within a week of joining. She’s easygoing, genuinely a good person.
“Good morning, Mitsuya-san.”
“You seem low-energy. Feeling okay?”
“A little hungover…”
“Then today’s lunch is definitely clam miso soup, for Aozawa-chan’s sake.”
Mitsuya-san said it, flashing a bright, toothy grin.
Clam miso soup, huh — must mean that set-meal place we always go to. In that case, I’ll get the fried horse mackerel set today, I thought, and pressed the power button on my laptop.
*
“Aozawa-chan, the data’s in from accounting, sharing it with you now. Can you get the monthly report to the manager before lunch?”
“Yes, no problem. I’ll finish before noon.”
The management team I belong to mainly analyzes the various financial statements coming up from accounting and manages the budget.
This period, right after accounting closes and the data comes in, is always the busiest stretch.
Checking the shared data, a sigh slipped out of me without meaning to. Right — another loss this month too.
The company runs several IT-related business lines, but the “Web Production Division” I’m part of has been running an operating loss consistently, even before I joined.
Overhead’s tracking to budget every month like clockwork, but the crucial part — revenue — is a mess. Coming in a full ten percent below budget, without fail.
Our whole job is budget management, so once the foundation itself has collapsed like this, there’s really nothing left to do.
“Same as always this month, huh.”
“Yeah. They’re apparently trying countermeasures, but the effect’s barely visible. Third year running now, so I’m thinking I might actually submit a transfer request soon.”
“Eh?”
She said it so suddenly that I stopped typing and turned to look at her.
A transfer — no way. The Web Production Division is pretty compact compared to the others, and even within it, the management team is just three people: the manager, me, and Mitsuya-san.
The division’s been shrinking year over year, carrying relatively little weight in the company as a whole, which is exactly why it tends to get new hires assigned here for training.
“No way… Mitsuya-san, please don’t leave me behind here.”
Clinging, I said it, and she glanced around briefly, then waved me over with a little beckoning gesture. Confused, I scrambled to pull my chair closer, and Mitsuya-san leaned in, whispering right at my ear.
“Just between us… apparently our division’s in pretty rough shape. There’s talk floating around about shutting the business down, or selling it off, all kinds of rumors.”
“Eh!?”
Just when I’d finally started getting the hang of the job after a full year — hearing something whispered like that so suddenly, a loud sound escaped me before I could stop it. Mitsuya-san shushed me, holding up a finger in warning, and I scrambled to clap both hands over my mouth.
“Aozawa-chan, you should probably put in a transfer request early too. Maybe at the next personnel review.”
Easy for her to say. Shoulders slumping, I turned back to my computer. This company has a free, open culture, easy to work in — but it seems I just got unlucky with my assignment.
What’s going to happen to my position… I thought, gloomy, plodding through the morning’s tasks with no other option.
*
“Aozawa-chan, ready for lunch soon?”
Right as the clock hands hit twelve, Mitsuya-san snapped her laptop shut. Following her lead, I closed mine too.
“Ah, Mitsuya-san, go ahead, I’ll catch up. Manager asked me to run something down to accounting, so I’ll swing by there first.”
“Okay, I’ll wait at the entrance.”
I gathered up the receipts the manager had handed me earlier, along with the monthly report submission, into a clear folder, tucked it under my arm, and hurried down to the floor below.
Our manager doesn’t seem to get along well with the accounting team, so I always end up as the go-between, shuttling between floors like a carrier pigeon. Though thanks to that, I’ve gotten friendly with everyone in accounting.
I’d only meant to drop off the receipts today too, but got pulled into some casual small talk and ended up losing more time than planned.
Mitsuya-san’s waiting downstairs, I need to hurry. Pulling my phone out of my pocket to send her a message, I broke into a small jog toward the elevator.
Focused on my phone screen, I was too slow to notice someone rounding the corner ahead of me. We collided, head-on, hard, and I stumbled off balance.
“Waah!”
Not fully understanding what had just happened, I felt hands catch my body, steadying me, and I scrambled to apologize.
“S-sorry, I’m so sorry…!”
“Are you okay?”
At the gentle voice asking that — my heart clenched, sharp, folding in on itself.
I know it. That soft, kind voice. This whole past four years, I couldn’t count how many times I’d dreamed of the moment that voice would say my name again.
There’s no way I could mishear it.
But why…? Because there’s no way she should be here, of all places. Still bewildered, I slowly lifted my face.
Time seemed to slow, like slow motion, and the moment my eyes met the woman steadying me, everything froze, cut clean out of time.
There’s no way I could ever forget them. Those eyes, endlessly deep, black as a midnight sea.
“…Kanata?”
Eyes widening, startled. My heart, which should have frozen solid, suddenly lurched back to life, pounding, refusing to stop.
Am I dreaming, right now?
Because standing right in front of me — is you. A little more grown-up than back then.